


Our days a kaleidoscope

by likingthistoomuch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, eventual Sherlolly, they will get there in the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-08 16:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12258231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likingthistoomuch/pseuds/likingthistoomuch
Summary: Sherlock and Molly have a different start to their life. Its entangled, its complicated. Its an AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OhAine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhAine/gifts), [whirligigkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whirligigkat/gifts).



> This is a multific after ages. Planned earlier as a long one shot (influenced by a Bollywood movie i saw ages ago), I was encouraged by Whirligigkat to be less lazy and try and give the story justice. I have tried within my skills, which are far from her's. But yeah.  
> Beta'd by the amazing Emma_Lynch. She just knows how to turn words to wonder. Magical woman, that.  
> Any mistakes, are mine. As always.

A deep breath, a pause to calm her nerves and gather all resources needed to stay put instead of running away. She had always been curious about this, had always imagined what the place would be like. Had always wanted to be allowed in, but never ever had the guts to ask, even in her dreams.

This had always been forbidden territory, in more ways than one and there was no use dawdling about. It just had to be done. Now.

Molly gently turned the handle and slowly entered Sherlock’s bedroom with trepidation. This was hallowed land, she was stepping into divine territory, a place to which mere mortals as she were not allowed access. Though here on a specific purpose that _John_ had sent her for, she still felt like an intruder and couldn’t help feeling that she was breaking some holy law. In fact she wouldn’t have been surprised to see a stern, humanised version of Cerberus or some such mythical guardian of the underworld standing on guard there. Surrounded by various entrances to hell, he would demand the reason for her presence before banishing her down one such path.

Instead, it was just a room, a neat, tidy bedroom with a wall adorned with a framed periodic table. A wardrobe, a set of table and chair, a neatly made master bed with lamps at the side and finally, the two bedside tables that were her destination.

Inhaling deeply, she took a moment drinking it all in, saving it to her mind and then quickly got looking for the papers demanded by the detective…(or rather John, having passed on the request to her as he nursed his sore knee). Opening the drawer in the nearest bedside table with shaking hands, she found a thickly stuffed diary. Pausing to take a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down, steadying her shaking hands… she was after all touching Sherlock’s private property.

She noticed the  official NSY folder peeping from beneath the diary. Her nerves getting better of her, she tried to pull the folder in order to make a quick escape. But she ended up dragging the diary along with, which upended and spilled its contents across the floor.

She whipped around, an apology ready on her lips, expecting Sherlock to appear out of the ether and give her a verbal lashing. Holding her breath for a moment, she forced herself to relax in the relief of her continued solitary presence. It was just a piece of stationary; she just had to keep it back again and things would be fine, she consoled herself. Dropping the NSY folder on the bed, Molly quickly tried to stuff papers randomly between the diary’s old pages when something caught her eye.

And time stood still.

The earliest art looked dated, the latest done pretty recently. The same features had been sketched over and over again; the same eyes, the same face in profile, the same nose.

The effort and emotions behind the work were visible, the strokes in each sketch showing not only the artist’s confidence but also the amount of dedication in his work. Each sketch was an exact replica of its previous attempt. There were no improvements, no variations, the work was meticulous, personal.

Now on automaton Molly shut the diary and replaced it in the drawer, taking a moment. She then took the NSY folder and left the room. She slowly approached the man she was sure was the artist, lost as he was in his current muse; the slide beneath that microscope. Where the entire gamut of people’s actions and motivations were reduced to a small point under the focus of those magnifying glasses and his all-seeing eyes.  She placed the papers by his microscope, his “Thank you, John” ignored by the cushion of her discovery.

It wasn’t long before the men realised her dazed presence, their reactions markedly different. While John looked curious, it didn’t take the detective more than a few seconds to get the whole story.

“No,” he rasped out.

Molly just stared at him, her face registering none of the emotions that she felt raging in turmoil within her.

“No!” This time his voice was stronger, louder, angrier. She assumed it was part embarrassment that provoked that reaction. “What the hell were you doing in my room?”

He turned to look at John, almost vibrating with emotion. “Did you send her in to get those papers?”

“What? Yes, you asked for-”

“I asked _you_ , I would’ve asked her if I wanted her snooping around my things.”

“I didn’t-,” she finally found her voice along with her indignation.

His fury when he whipped around made her take a step back.

_“I am talking to my friend.”_

It was the perfect example of how simple words uttered a certain way cut people down much more than insults or berating. Molly felt small, tiny as she felt his rage flow over her.

It wouldn’t do to be meek now, her stupid heart had whispered. So instead of remaining quiet, she whispered quietly, “Sherlock.”

The detective blanched. He looked almost frightened for a moment, his reaction further strengthening her belief. So she ploughed on.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“I saw it, I didn’t mean to I swear but the papers fell out,” she babbled in disbelief, in awe, in confusion.

“You had no business being in there,” he bit out savagely, ignoring John who had stood up and wobbled near them, his hand on the detective’s arm to try and pacify him.

“I am sorry, but I didn’t mean-,” she stuttered to a halt before trying again. “I didn’t know-”

“You _still_ don’t.”

“I know what I saw.”

“Do you? Are you sure?”

The cold look on his face should’ve given her a hint, should’ve made her pause and think but that horse had already bolted.

“I am not blind Sherlock.”

He did not speak but his eyes narrowed.

John tried to interrupt but was again ignored. He knew that look, knew that Sherlock was now holding to the last threads of patience.

“You may not want to admit it,” she responded, finding her strength and refusing to be cowed down. “I know what I saw.”

“You have no idea Molly. And it’s best if you leave now.”

“What? No. I am not going anywhere-”

“Leave.” His tone was quiet, dark and almost dangerous. The sudden change in volume and tone put her off balance but she stood her ground, ploughed on.

“Not until we talk about those sketches.”

“Molly Hooper, get out right _now_.”

“No!” she surprised herself by not quailing in front of him. “Not before we talk. You have sketched _my face_ in your diary…”

“That’s _not_ you.”

“I saw with-”

“Its not _you_.”

“Oh come on-”

“That’s not you Molly _… that’s your mother_!”

Her protest died in her mouth as she blinked at his words, trying to make sense of the sound her ears received. She didn’t hear right, did she? The meaning of those words didn’t make much sense.

Molly’s mouth moved in response but no words came out. She tried again but with the same result. She felt like she was falling from the top of the crazy drop of a rollercoaster, with her innards feeling tight and the bottom of her stomach dropping.

This was a joke, a sick joke. Right? It had to be.

“You’re lying. Why would you say that? You always say such horrible things. Always, always... ” Her strong voice faded, the protest in her words now revealing the plea that almost hid beneath.

A plea that obviously fell on deaf ears as Sherlock’s cold, clipped words hit her harder, faster than bullets, piercing through her, leaving her wounded in the worst possible way.

“That’s Maggie. _Her_ , not you. I loved you mother as long as I knew her and since then. Your presence reminds me of her, I hear her voice when you speak…I see _her_ when I look at you. Get this clear once and for all. NOT YOU BUT _HER_!”

There was a viciousness in Sherlock’s words that was deliberate and it cut deep, just like he intended. Molly now simply stared at him, her face an unmoving mask.

Until it all just came together, making such sense.

She became aware of the world around, of the angry man in front of her and his helpless friend with a kind face. The messy kitchen and the oddly comforting living room. The sounds of cars right below on Baker Street and Mrs Hudson vacuuming. This was real, this wasn’t imaginary. This wasn’t her waking from a bad dream. This was reality.

She was caught in a drama of her own making.

She inhaled deeply, her mortified gaze now scanning the floor. Clutching and unclutching her fingers, she had no idea how long she stood there, before she nodded and grabbing her things, staggered out of the flat.

The moment she left, Sherlock stalked to the kitchen cupboard and grabbing a whiskey bottle, slammed it on the counter. He quickly poured himself a stiff drink with unsteady hands and downed it in one gulp before throwing the glass in the sink. He stood with his hands on the counter, his breaths coming fast and furious.

“What?” he snapped, his anger now turned towards the sole occupant in the room. An occupant who remained calm, unaffected by the show of rage.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“You were thinking out loud, John.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Your ‘nothing’ is more loaded than Irene’s innuendos.”

John paused, knowing this was thin ice.

“You didn’t have to take it out on her like that. Not when her only fault is that she loves you.

The way that you _wish_ her mother did, but she didn’t _._ ”

 xx

John left his friend standing where he was and left the room, not at all surprised when he heard the crash of another glass breaking in the sink.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, first of all many apologies for the massive delay in posting this chapter. a) it ran away from me and b) real life got super busy with festivals, relatives, vacations, work, stuff etc.  
> The next ones wont take this much time, I promise.  
> Thousand and a million thanks to OhAine and Whirligigkat, the two women who kept faith and turned this chapter into what I think is a decent one. (Oh you should see the earlier drafts...so funny.) Also thanks to Emma Lynch, her inputs always illuminate.  
> Ok, I'll stop ranting (wish I could write my fics so fast eh!) and let you lovelies get back to it.

Long days of summer with warm winds, light rain, sunshine that slowly faded into golden, blushing evenings. Cool nights lit up by stars and celebrated by sounds of insects providing the notes to a symphony played by the trees as the winds moved their fragrant and fruit laden boughs. All this accompanied by the constant play of waves chasing each other before collapsing on the pebbled beach.

In short, the absence of school (and the resulting compulsory interaction with other children in his class that seldom ended well) accompanied with good weather was the perfect summer setting for the young Sherlock who preferred the company of  _ any  _ other species but his own. No silly questions, no dramatic affronted reactions to obvious facts, no resulting tears. The worms didn’t complain when disturbed from pruning leaves, the flowers held their form and fragrance and the fruits retained their sweetness. There was a whole new world to be explored out here and his own was the only company he sought. 

And if there were times when he blurted out something only to realise he had no audience to share his excitement with…well, those times were few and far between and easily ignored in the quest for more knowledge. After all, as his brother said, knowledge is power.

So, flowers were plucked, insects were caught and observed. There were fruits that were picked in order to ‘conduct experiments’, yet it would not be long before their sweet taste enticed the boy enough to take another bite and then one more, until all the objects of his  _ experiments  _ found their way into his stomach.

His brother had smirked, his parents had smiled in indulgence. Only his then chief carer (and later landlady), Mrs Hudson had chided him.

“What sort of a scientist would you make if you eat up all of your samples? Always keep a fruit or two aside, my dear.” 

The boy had smiled, delighted at being taken seriously. But such instances were rare.

He wasn’t the most popular child in school by far, and he didn’t have many friends to play with.  While he wanted to explore the shore when the tides went away, the rest wanted to pick pebbles and harass the crabs the receded waterline exposed. They loved football, whereas he became interested only when they started playing Pirates . But he had walked away the next day when they had refused to continue the game, instead choosing to play amongst the weird tombstones on his family estate. The others had shown no interest in that either, getting spooked by the idea of playing amongst graves.

“But they aren’t real. They are just make believe…look at the dates carved on those headstones.” His pleas (he chose to believe they were explanations) fell on deaf and nervous ears. The other children found it disturbing and ran away, making fun of the boy with unruly curls and weird playing habits.

So Sherlock devised new methods and games to keep him occupied, as any time any kids turned up at his house (as arranged by his parents, of course)  it ended up in tears or fights. Unsurprisingly there was complete reluctance by the children to return. As he went mad in the confinement of his house, which did not bode well for those living with him, they let him stay out all hours of the day, and sometimes even in late evening. He was glad at this arrangement, as only so many books could be read and board-games played before all the unspent nervous energy made him fidgety and irritated.

In short, Sherlock was lonely and he was bored. He had tried his best but all his attempts to fit in with others made him stand out even further; the more he tried to blend the more it exposed how different he was from them all. It was almost like oil and water; they just didn’t mix.

And the status quo would have continued but for a determined foray into the knee length grass by the hill overlooking the sea, even when warned by his older brother of an approaching storm.

The grass had pink flowers, and was bushy, inviting insects of various kinds. He had been successful at catching various types, but the dragonfly was proving to be a stubborn opponent. Nose deep in the grass, all his concentration on the insect’s flight path, he had failed to notice he had company.

“If you go at it from the side, they can see you. Try to catch its tail.”

He had turned to look at a girl who looked about his same age, her brown hair tied in a hasty ponytail, her brown eyes twinkling.

“I know how to catch a dragonfly,” he haughtily replied. He wasn’t going to let anyone one up him on catching insects.

She hadn’t responded, just smiled and plonked herself right beside him, not saying a word. Showing his displeasure at the company did not produce any results other than a wide smile, so determined to ignore her he went at the insect again.

The girl watched without speaking further, trying to swallow her chuckles at his failed attempts until, taking pity on him, she caught one at first go. “I’ve had plenty of practice. Let me tie that thread to its tail and…here it is. A gift from me to you.”

“I don’t accept gifts from strangers.”

She’d laughed, without a speck of teasing in it. 

“I’m Maggie. I just moved in with my aunt and uncle, the house by the hill, the Boltons. And you are?”

He’d raised his head in an attempt to ape his brother’s haughty look that generally quailed his classmates but it simply seemed to further amuse her.

“Oh, spit it out. I just told you mine.”

“I’m Sherlock. If you live with the Boltons then I live just a few houses away. It’s the one with the big peach tree. I found a nest there, I think it’s a partridge but I’ve never seen the parents. The eggs will hatch in a few days if I am correct-and you will see that I usually am. I plan to collect worms for the chicks.”

Maggie had smiled at his ramblings- he hadn’t meant to tell her all that. He had just meant to share his name and ask her to leave him alone.

“Sherlock? What kind of a name is that?”

“Well, it’s  _ my _ name.” 

She had grinned broadly, “It sure is. Come on, let’s see if we can find any crickets.”

Suddenly, summer didn’t seem that lonely.

xx

In the following days, he met the girl many more times. He half suspected she spied on him as most of the times he ventured outside, there she was, with a big grin and absolute disdain to his snide and pointed comments.

“Save your breath Holmes, I’ve heard  _ and said _ far worse than that. Since you’re the only one around who doesn’t make me want to jump down that hill, you’ll have to bear with me yeah!”

Though he was almost as tall as Maggie, she was five years older than him. She was sixteen, almost touching seventeen but her laughing eyes and easy manners made her look younger. He grudgingly accepted that she was the ideal companion, finding no qualms in spending time with him though he was so much younger. 

Having lived all her life in the city, she loved the new experience of fresh outdoors and found joy in the smallest things. And though she shared no interest in the scientific details Sherlock rattled off, she enjoyed his company.

“You are young but interesting. Oh you’re stuck with me till school starts... I’ll make new friends then,” she teased.

“But none of them would be as smart as me!” the young boy had retorted.

“That’s quite possible, Lord Know-it-all,” she had laughed. 

He hadn’t been pleased, pouting and trying to huff away. Trying, because she had grabbed him by the back of his jumper and dragged him down to the beach just as they had planned earlier.

“Oh, come one. As the Joker says,  _ Why so serious _ ?”

“Which Joker?”

“The Batman one.”

“Who?”

“The Batman one…- _ Batman!! _ ”

That was one of the few times she had actually stopped dead in her tracks and stared at his clueless face like she was expecting him to suddenly sprout horns and turn green.

“You know names of insects and stuff but you don’t know Batman? You are such a swot! Summer project for me,” she announced haughtily. “– educating you in pop- ok,  _ alternate _ culture.”

And that’s how the first comic landed in his lap. He had acted like the book mortified him, the seemingly senseless material his classmates loved to gobble down. But later that night he had read the entire thing under the light of his torch, hidden under his duvet. There was no way he was going to let Mycroft know he was reading such ‘garbage’.

And that was just few of the things Maggie introduced him to. She taught him to race the waves, encouraged him to build sand castles, indulging him as he corrected her ‘structural mistakes’.

She had also encouraged him to steal the apples from Mrs Young’s orchard.

“Why would I do that? I prefer the ones from our tree anyway.” 

He had been scandalised at her suggestion but she’d persisted, grabbing his arm and pulling him away in glee when the old woman had come yelling at them. They had run up the hill, laughing all the way and finally collapsing on the grassy carpet before devouring their swag. 

Sherlock didn’t admit it but the fruit did taste sweeter that day.

Maggie also found a way to get the Boltons invited for tea, Sherlock boasts of Mrs Hudson’s legendary cooking proving too much of a temptation.

“She has found a new lease of life here. Her mother died long ago and my brother’s been recently posted to the Middle East, so she has to live with us,” Mrs Bolton shared over tea with Mrs Holmes, who then lamented at the girl being separated from her father.

“He’s a nice man. He takes good care of me, but I don’t think he knows how to be a father. And I guess I’m ok with that,” Maggie had quietly admitted between bites of apple tart, ducking her head to avoid the pitiful glances the women threw at her.

“I for one am very glad you moved here. The city life must’ve been so suffocating…here I can teach you so many things,” Sherlock had proudly announced to the whole room, blind to the indulgent looks thrown his way.  

“Well between Sherlock and the new friends you’ll make at school, I am sure you’ll settle down here soon, Maggie.”

“Don’t listen to Mummy. With me around, you wouldn’t  _ need _ other friends!”

Busy swallowing the warm scone, he missed the slight frown on Maggie’s face and the worried look cast by his Mother.  

 

Xx

 

End of the holidays and beginning of school had always been painful time for the young boy. School meant interacting with his classmates, something that usually ended up in fights or tears. 

“Oi Holmes, I heard you got yourself a girlfriend - she as weird as you?” 

“You tell me if I am weird enough when I punch you Wilkins...or hang you by your toes. Wanna have a go?” She had appeared over his shoulder, the cold look in her eyes piercing through his classmates’ bluster.

Maggie was no delicate flower, she could take care of herself as he learnt quickly. And though her intervention had reduced direct taunts, it wasn’t all smooth sailing for Sherlock.  

“Those boys are idiots…and I will not hesitate to tell them that,” he had huffed after another incident, his arms crossed and his face painted with a thunderous frown which somehow made him look even younger.

Maggie had smacked her forehead before grabbing him by his shoulders. Holding his defiant gaze, she had whispered slowly and conspiratorially. 

“And give away all of those secrets? As your mother rightly said, ignoring them will be the best thing to do. But if it escalates…we’ll  _ plan _ and get back. After all a scientist is anything but impulsive.”

Sherlock liked the advice. He knew it wasn’t exactly new, but the ‘ _ plan and get back _ ’ part kept him interested. So he took it to heart, ignoring any teasing and basically keeping to himself. It did result in far fewer fights that usual. 

That, and the fact that he ended up making another new friend, Victor Trevor.

Sherlock found it weirdly nerve wracking when Victor asked him to play with him one day after school. He had almost refused, he knew it usually ended, but Maggie counselled him that if he kept his deductions to himself and took his cues from Victor he’d be okay.

“Use the observation skills to impress him, not bore or scare the shit out of him.”

It went ok, as far as these things did.

“It was fun, but Sherlock didn’t stop talking. It was exhausting,” Victor admitted to her the next day. 

Yet, surprisingly (and providing a huge relief for Mrs Holmes) in spite of a stuttering start the boys managed to get along very well. Victor shared Sherlock’s love of books while Sherlock shared his fascination for the outdoors. But one thing Victor did not show interest in was science; he was a football and fun kind of boy.

“But I’ll show you see how I made the fire burn green. Copper sulphate from the root killers.”

“Yeah, but it’s Spurs playing!!!”

It was in such a situation that Maggie stepped in.

“Never mind Victor,  _ I _ need your help with chemistry. God knows how I’ll pass that bloody subject.”

But pass she did, and with flying colours. Sherlock not only turned out to be a very competent tutor for the older student, he also managed to instil a level of interest in the subject for her.

“How I wish school labs were as interesting. They make science such a drag. This is actually fun, they should let us do  _ these _ experiments in the lab,” she announced excitedly before plonking a kiss on his cheeks. His red face made her giggle before she fondly ruffled his hair and waved him goodbye.

It was turning out to be his best year so far. Life suddenly didn’t seem so lonely. He had a friend - no two! which was two more than he’d ever had - and he was (for most of the time) no longer the loner who sulked in the corner or showed off when spoken to . Yes, he was still different, he still stood out but it was no longer water and oil. It was more of an emulsion, and though he would never admit it, he was happy.

Although glad to see the change, not everyone seemed as relieved or even pleased at the main reason behind it .

“I am awfully glad ther father moved to Middle of wherever and Maggie moved here!”

“Foolish optimism, Mrs Hudson. It’s  more like waiting for the proverbial other shoe to fall.”

“Oh I hope it’s a heavy duty with a hard-sole , Myc dear... on your head.” 

It was a testimony to her strong and willful nature that Mycroft Holmes actually looked a bit contrite.

Mrs Hudson was thrilled to see that Sherlock was finally living the life of a normal young teen, or as normal as it could get and she wasn’t going to let any snotty uni student spoil it. Her boy was finally relaxed, comfortable in his own skin and actually (almost) happy and that was the only thing that mattered.

Maggie was the catalyst they all had been looking for. She knew how to make Sherlock see things from other’s perspective, knew how to diffuse a situation all the while encouraging the boy to relax a bit. She was teaching him to have fun. It was something they had all tried but failed, whereas she had simply bulldozed over all or any of Sherlock’s protests and had forced him to see her way. It wasn’t ideal but it was all working well.

Until the day the green monster raised his head.

“I saw you, with that Benjamin chap.”

“He is sweet, isn’t he? Asked me out for a film, and I think I’ll say yes,” was her excited reply. 

“Films? But we were going to develop the crab photos. We spent  _ hours _ taking them,” he protested.

“Yes we did...and now you can develop them.”

“But...but we’d planned this. And developing photographs is so much fun.”

“Oh Sherlock,” she’d said dreamily. “ _ I _ want to have some fun in the dark too,” giggling at her private joke.

It wasn’t that Sherlock didn’t get her; he just saw too much red…or green at the idea of her going out with another boy.

It came onto Mrs Hudson to soothe ruffled (and envious) feathers, plying him with hot pies that never failed to work. 

“That’s bound to happen Sherlock, she is almost eighteen. She’ll want to spend some time with kids her age too you know.” 

“When I grow up, I’ll take her everywhere…she wouldn’t  _ need _ other friends,” he had assured her between big bites.

“Now, well dear. She will always have other friends. Just as you have Victor.”

“Yes but that’s different.”

“Is that so,” she had quietly. “And how?”

“Victor is my friend, I like him,” he bit out irritatedly, letting his mouth run. “But Maggie is so special. She is utterly different and interesting and smart and beautiful and lo-”

He had stopped short, his mouth mid bite and his ears tipped red. Had he just blurted that out? He knew from experience that Mrs Hudson was very astute...what if she was able to deduce how he felt? What if she found out how deeply adored Maggie? She wouldn’t tell anyone but he had still been embarrassed and had tried to scamper off.

“No leaving before finishing your food,” she had firmly held his arm before leading him back to the table, adding kindly. “Don’t fret too much, it’ll be our secret. We’ll see when we get there, eh?”

The woman’s words did assuage him a little but it was a secret that was clear for his whole family to see. The young boy was enamoured but the adults left it at that. They knew Maggie was a good influence on him, helping him understand the social barriers he found so difficult to handle. 

Except for Mycroft, who persisted.

“Don’t get too involved Sherlock, it wouldn’t do you any good.”

The words had been ignored, like most of the things Mycroft said. He had dreams...and no one could stop him from having them. He was having the best time of his short life and was determined to ensure it lasted for the longest time.

So when his birthday arrived this time, he reluctantly allowed his mother to throw him a party. For once there were people other than his family there; there was Victor, two other boys from his class as well as the two girls he helped in Maths, there were the other Bolton kids (they were small but made the noise so necessary for a birthday party). And there was Maggie…with Benjamin.

“Oh come on, he had come over to study. Besides, I am not so cruel as to make him miss that cake,” her eyes had twinkled as she swallowed a huge piece. Sherlock had been mollified when he noticed that she had actually not shown any further interest in her classmate, almost ignoring him rest of the evening. 

Then there was the gift.

“Please,  _ please _ do not tell Aunty Florence I gave you this, she’ll have my hide. My old best friend had this whole skeleton in her living room-no, I don’t know  _ why _ \- and I asked her to send me this since they are moving abroad. Apparently US customs are not very amenable to  _ skeletons _ that were in your  _ closet _ .”

She grinned and waggled her eyebrows, and as usual, he groaned. 

So one more member was added to the ever growing group around him. Yes, he didn’t speak but that meant he didn’t complain either. Billy was the perfect addition to his bedroom décor; a real human skull. Sherlock was over the moon (his family was not; Mrs Hudson was repulsed.)

As the glorious days of summer arrived again, they were greeted with open arms and enthusiasm instead of dread and reluctance. Sherlock and Victor made many plans, including Maggie in most. The girl sportingly tried to participate as much as possible but she had her own group of friends now. She spent less and less time with Sherlock, something that he never failed to point out. 

“Oh next time for sure, Sherlock. After all, who amongst this bunch knows where to catch the best dragonflies, eh?”

A ruffling of his hair, an impish grin that she knew always worked and he was mollified. He didn’t like it but was helpless against it. 

The ‘next time’ occurred with diminishing frequency, something that he couldn’t do anything about. Also Maggie seemed to be more and more distracted, lost in her own world.

"What are you thinking,” he had demanded.

“Nothing.”

“You are hiding something!"

"Maybe I am. Maybe I just don’t want to talk about it." For the first time, there wasn’t a teasing look or a playful gleam in her eyes.

"Oh you can’t do that, we're friends...best friends ...and best friends have no secrets."

She had looked irritated at that. "Sherlock, I don’t have to share each and every waking thought with you, ok?"

"But  _ I _ do it!”

" _ I _ don’t ask you to. Are you telling me you have no secrets?" The almost knowing look she gave him made his ears turn red. Did she- how could she-  _ No one _ , no one but Mrs Hudson knew and she wouldn’t rattle him out.

He knew he looked guilty, knew he shouldn’t be but he couldn’t wipe that look off his face fast enough. 

And as expected Maggie noticed. And frowned.

"What? I was kidding but you look like you were caught stealing the whole biscuit tin!"

Deep breath, nose in air (something he had finally succeeded in copying from Mycroft) Sherlock gave her a cool look.

"I don’t have to tell you."

But it refused to leave his mind and he was sure there was more to it.

“It’s very common for teenage girls to behave that way.”

“No Mrs Hudson, she is hiding something.”

He never did find out what it was; Maggie laughed away his observations, teasing and provoking him before mollifying him. And to be honest, he liked it when she did that, it made him feel special.

 

Xx

 

Later that summer, Maggie went away to meet her father, who was visiting London after almost a year. She had been so excited to see him, she had almost left without meeting Sherlock. Waving at him as the bus left, she had looked radiant like never before.

“She’s in a hurry. Didn’t know she missed her father that much, she never talks about him does she!”

“So you noticed it too. Good job Victor.”

And though it nagged him, Sherlock soon forgot about it in his quest to catch more fish than Victor for once, damn it!

Maggie’s initial plan of staying away for a week got extended to almost a month, causing her to miss the eighteenth birthday party Sherlock had planned for her. 

And when she did return, she was looking happy, radiating pure joy.

“I met someone. Or rather, I met him again. I knew this boy from before and then we got chatting again. And then when we met…oh Sherlock, he is lovely and-and I know it’s fast but we got engaged - and I am getting married,” she had blurted happily, her eyes shining like never before. 

To say he was stunned would’ve been an understatement. In auto mode, he had offered his congratulations and had rushed home where he had locked himself in his room, refusing to meet anyone. It was only Mrs Hudson who managed to get through to him.

“ I am so sorry, dear boy, but she is happy. It’s the least we can expect for someone, isn’t it.”

He had finally cried in her arms that night, his tender heart broken. His parents had treated the incident respectfully but Sherlock had been mortified in retrospect. 

The news had come out of nowhere and he wasn’t the only one to be caught unawares.

“It’s all happening so fast. I would rather she wait... she’s just eighteen. But she is an adult and has already decided to go live with Tom. On the bright side, he is a decent bloke with a decent job. We can’t do much about it, can we,” her aunt confided in his mother as Sherlock hid behind the door and eavesdropped. 

The boy had run and hid in his room for the rest of the day, refusing to come down even for dinner. He was hurting and didn’t want to be around people who were so perceptive of him. He knew his parents wouldn’t comment but he was afraid they might privately find it amusing. And his brother...there was no way he could deal with his smug face. So he stayed hidden, trying and practising his impassive face.

It showed in the determined air around him when he finally turned up for breakfast the next morning.

“I told you, don’t get involved Sherlock. Emotions are pesky little things,” his brother had quietly mentioned before leaving him alone. 

And for once, Sherlock agreed. 

Towards the end of summer Maggie got married, and moved to London. As Tom was just starting out in his new job things were going to be a bit tight and she wouldn't be visiting often. But they were young, in love and life was looking good.

It was anything but that for Sherlock. 

The reception after the wedding had been an eye-opener. Maggie had eyes only for her new husband; even when she danced with Sherlock, even when she laughed and tried to have an easy banter with him, her eyes never left Tom.

It was that night that Sherlock came to the conclusion that his brother had been right all along (though he would never openly admit it) and to follow his lead. Starting from right then, he decided that the best course of things was to address facts and leave emotions out of it. It wouldn’t be the most socially accepted approach, (as he could judge from his brother’s social status), but it would work…he would  _ make  _ it work. 

But he missed her terribly. He had experienced pure joy in her company, and pure acceptance. She had been a major player in turning things around for him, helping him through his social awkwardness with an attitude that at times bordered on crass . She had helped almost bridge the gap between him and his peers and her powerful, cheerful personality had helped overcome and at times also laugh at his own faux pas.

She had been his guide, a strong presence that had encouraged him to be himself, to take pride and comfort in his own skin, and he felt rudderless, almost helpless in her absence. Now that she was no longer around him, he further realised how much he had relied on her and had looked up to her. 

He missed her and was eager to meet her soon, almost forming a plan to visit London but pushed it out of his mind when the next news came.

Maggie had cancelled her plan to visit the Boltons, travelling to meet Tom’s family instead. Sherlock had been so eager to see her, to ensure that she was ok that he felt gutted, almost betrayed at her change of plans.

The reason for the change soon became clear when news reached that she was pregnant, with the baby due in winter.

It was the final slamming of the door that had already been closed shut on him. 

Summer which had been his favourite season, now seemed to have lost its sheen. The outdoors didn’t hold that same amount of pleasure, and the indoors had always suffocated him.

Confused and in emotional turmoil he just wasn’t able to cope with, Sherlock gradually withdrew from his natural self, slowly but surely building on this identity of an emotionless, detached boy to hide behind. His parents and  Mrs Hudson tried to reach him but he seemed to have built a wall around himself. Naturally this effect seeped into other aspects of his life as things started getting a bit rough at school, with even Victor having trouble associating this new persona with his friend.

“What’s happened to you? Why are you behaving so weird?”

If Sherlock was further hurt by his best friend’s inability to understand him, he didn’t let on. He knew he was gradually isolating himself, but he couldn’t help it. It was as if Maggie had been his anchor and now he was rudderless. 

She had been in touch with Sherlock throughout, sending photographs and emails. But he had been reluctant in responding, making it look like he was slowly losing interest in being friends with her. She had teased him about it i, jovially accusing him of trying to get back at her for the plans she had missed. 

He had almost maintained complete radio silence from his end after that. It felt good, it felt comfortable…safe. It was the one way that he could deal with the pain.

It also became his biggest regret.

One afternoon while he was busy with an experiment, Mrs Hudson came up to him.

A heavy hand on his shoulder and heavy breathing. 

He knew it…dreaded her message even before she uttered the words.

He later could only recall snippets, a word here and there. Accident. Baby fine. Their infant daughter had been left with friends while Maggie and Tom had gone for a meal, a small trip down the road that turned out to be their last one. She had died instantly, Tom had died in the hospital.

The orphaned infant had been brought up to their village as Tom’s family was in no position to care for her and Florence Bolton refused to let the child be handed over to social services. 

“A little stability was all her mother craved…I will not let a similar fate be bestowed on her child.”

Little Molly Hooper was now in the care of her great aunt.

Mr Holmes had helped them make the arrangements, sorting the baby’s affairs. There was the little money bequeathed to Tom, and Maggie’s father’s contribution. Mrs Hudson had stepped in to help as a guardian for little Molly (a temporary position that she made permanent when things got bad for  Florence). It was a reflection of Maggie’s happy and open nature that people offered to help out with what was now the only remnant of her very young legacy.

“I want to help,” Sherlock had spoken to his father one evening. “I know what Maggie wanted, what her dreams were….As Mrs Hudson is the principle guardian, I can consult with her.”

Barely fifteen himself, Sherlock decided he had to be included in the decisions concerning little Molly as much as possible. Initially just a spectator, he slowly started getting involved as time passed and the child grew. But he kept his distance, keeping direct involvement to a minimum.

It was going to turn into role that he would fulfil only too well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. Please leave a review, it helps me so much. Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> So what do you think? Tell me...I would be so thrilled to read your thoughts.Please leave a review.


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